


Six More Weeks Because of My Shadow

by yuma (yuma_writes)



Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen, Hurt Tony DiNozzo, Hurt/Comfort, Stream of Consciousness, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 07:33:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5819728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuma_writes/pseuds/yuma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all comes down to the fact it saw its shadow that he was in this situation. And because the snow wasn't doing what it's supposed to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six More Weeks Because of My Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> In light of recent, _delightful_ weather events, I decided to unearth this ficlet from my hard drive and post it.

It didn't melt.

Of all the things going on above, around, in his ear, inside his body, it was the thing that stuck in Tony's head the most.

It didn't melt.

_"...fifteen minutes away..."_

"Not good enough!"

_"...blocked in. Boss, we're on our wa—Boss? Boss!"_

The sky cracked loudly above him drowning out the snap and hiss coming out of his earpiece. Bang bang boom. And all sorts of noises Tony didn't think snow would make. Unless it was snow thunder. He once saw a weird thing on the Weather Channel, on a night when keeping his eyes open were preferable to closing them. Snow thunder. Rare. Weird. 

_"…can't see the shooter…above us…DC Metro…responding…"_

"Direction's windward, at my four o'clock!"

_"…coming your way…"_

No. Not thunder. Gibbs. Who speaks like thunder. Could be his new name: he who speaks like—

"Damn it, McGee. Where are they?"

The ground and the car Tony was behind, vibrated against him as if saying "Okay, here we go again" because after three months of no snow, DC gets blanketed with the white stuff four days before spring.

Stupid Potomac Phil.

_"I think I see hi—"_

"Get to cover!"

_"Response units ten minutes ou—"_

"I want them here now!"

Why the hell did they rely on a stuffed groundhog to predict the weather anyway? At least in Philly, they used a live rodent, coaxed it out of its lopsided canary yellow painted pseudo-house with celery, haul it out by its scuff and declared "to screw it with the Farmer's Almanac, our mangy animal says it's spring!" So long no politician dropped the furry guy, spring was sure to come around the corner.

_"I can't see where he's coming from!"_

_"Four o'clock! Four o'clock!"_

_"McGee, I'm out!"_

Something hot and _didnotbelongohGodstopthat_ cut into his lungs and suddenly, Tony was back in the blue room, playing a young Travolta, breathing sterilized air, but not quite breathing it in because the tiny air molecules were suddenly not so tiny and it felt like one of those stupid tapioca bubbles he tried to suck through his straw. He was never having bubble tea again. Abby pinky swear. Probably because he had freaked her and Jimmy out when attempting to drink sweet tea saturated in gooey, sticky, sweet pearls caused him to hyperventilate. 

Stupid lungs. Stupid plague.

It was then, his pants soaking up tinged snow, Tony decided this was a stupid situation. Major Berning was a major stupid because he thought picking off everyone he had a beef with was a smart idea. Ensign Carter in JAG was stupid for falling in love with Berning and passed along what she knew because she fantasized she was Jodi Foster to Berning's DeNiro sans taxi. The Beltway was stupid because it choked after the skies dumped a mere thirty inches on its blacktop which ended up with a slippery car chase and Carter in a crunched up upside down car and Berning screaming it was their fault. Potomac Phil was stupid because it had stuffing for brains and thought it was a great idea to declare it saw its shadow and now DC barely functioned because snow is the one thing that overrules them all. The elevator was stupid because it stalled between the first floor and the armory so he was late and that's why he probably got a sucky vest, last on the shelves, last picked in dodgeball, poor vest guy with its stupid plating, stupid padding that couldn't stop a bullet from going into his side and out the other way. 

And the snow was stupid because it didn't melt under his blood.

Squishy human beings run 98.8, right? The snow underneath him should be water by now which would have been great because he was thirsty, his mouth was dry, his lips were crack—

Gibbs looked thirsty too. After all, the guy was doing all the yelling. 

"...with me, DiNozzo. Keep your eyes open."

If the snow would only melt, Tony thought fuzzily, they could have something to drink and then maybe Gibbs would stop looking so pissed and stop trying to jam his fist into his left kidney because—

Another bolt of _didnotbelongohGodstopthat_ boiled through him. Tony groaned. He blinked blearily at the snow under him. Pink, red, white, yellow (ew) snow surrounded him and Gibbs. And there was more of it coming down. On his head. On Gibbs's flushed face. On the car, they were crouched behind. It was probably on McGee and Bishop too. Wherever they are. Gibbs kept shoving his head down before he could check and see where the metallic spit and snap barrage was coming from.

Hopefully, they weren't crouched in yellow snow. That's almost as bad as red splattered non-melting snow.

A large hand cupped Tony's jaw and turned him away from the fuzzy tableau of his own blood dyeing the snow pink. He blinked at Gibbs. At least, he wasn't yelling anymore.

"Keep your eyes open." Gibbs looked like a disgruntled snowman, his gray now covered in fluffy white, his shoulders topped with tiny ice crystals. Even his earwig was looking a bit frosty. Tony wondered where his jacket went. He looked down numbly on himself. The red dotted NCIS jacket stared back. 

Oh. 

"I can't get a line on Berning," Gibbs bit out because Marines were taught to growl, not talk. He kept his hand on Tony's jaw although it slipped briefly to his throat. Cold fingers, damp from the snow (stupid groundhog), pressed into his jugular. Even though Gibbs said nothing, Tony saw his eyes narrowing, his eyes darkening in silent count.

"McGee!" Gibbs hollered over the car because Berning shot Gibbs's phone out of his hand. Tony had tackled Gibbs before he was shot out of the ground too. 

McGee shouted something back. He sounded like a mini-Gibbs, all bark and maybe with a bit of bite because he sandwiched their newest Probie, Bishop, between him and their sedan. 

"Saw us coming," Tony gasped. "Knew Carter was dirty."

Gibbs didn't look at Tony. He squinted through the still falling snow, trying to see where in the cluster of farmhouses Berning was holed up. Tony was pretty sure Gibbs will find him. Snipers like him and Berning think alike. Sort of. Gibbs was more Grr grr, where as Berning was more Mwha ha ha.

Tony felt Gibbs's fingers twitch on his throat, maybe tapping out "Shut the hell up, DiNozzo" in Morse code on his jugular. Which was kind of cool in a way, yet not cool because Gibbs's hand felt like ice on his skin because the snow kept falling because their mayor opted out in relying on the well established rodent in Philly and instead consulted a sawdust stuffed Potomac Phil instead. Maybe it was because it was easier to pronounce. Or spell because—

"How the hell do you even say Pun...Pew...suck...knee?" Tony groaned.

Gibbs darted a look towards Tony. "What?" 

Tony stared up at Gibbs. Stared because the guy was getting blurry, fuzzy, like snow, like any minute, he'll all blow away.

Gibbs glanced down and it was then Tony realized he'd somehow been able to lift his too heavy hand to hook around one of Gibbs's belt loops.

Something flickered across Gibbs's face. He grimaced. The snow was probably soaking through his pants as well. He dropped a hand over Tony's, but he didn't pull the hand away. He gripped it, forcing Tony's stiff fingers to curl tighter around the belt loop.

"Stupid Phil," Tony wheezed. "Shadow...should have...listened to other P-Phil."

Luckily, Gibbs knew what Tony was talking about. Marine superpowers. He nodded gravely.

"Should have," Gibbs said gruffly. He turned his eyes forward; he held his gun in a white knuckled grip. Tony's hand ached in sympathy.

"Probably couldn't spell Pun...Punchy..." Tony gritted his teeth. "Two years in Philly and still c-couldn't..." He coughed. He thought he tasted something he shouldn't. When he spit it out, he saw red still refusing to melt away in the snow. He felt himself sliding down the car towards the ground. 

Gibbs fidgeted closer. Tony ended up landing on his thigh. 

The snow tickled Tony's nose. He couldn't hear the guns any more. It was all just one roar, one after the other until suddenly, nothing. Then again, he couldn't hear sirens either. He couldn't remember why, but he knew Gibbs wanted to hear sirens. Sirens were really important right now.

No sirens. Just the howl of snow.

"This is bad, Boss."

Gibbs's hand squeezed tight on his fingers. Tony vaguely thought he could feel bones creaking. 

"Six more weeks of this?" Tony groaned. 

A gruff laugh startled out of Gibbs. 

"Didn't you grow up in Long Island, DiNozzo?" Gibbs stooped lower. Tony found himself hidden under Gibbs's hunched form. His damp sleeve pressed against Tony's cheek. Maybe Gibbs should take his jacket back. 

"Long Island," Tony muttered. He couldn't sit up. Good thing Gibbs's thigh was stopping him from falling face first in questionably colored snow. "Not North Pole."

"This is nothing," Gibbs said. He nudged Tony to slump against his legs. Gibbs eclipsed the sky. Snow stopped falling on Tony's face. "Are you listening to me? This is nothing, Anthony."

Tony nodded sleepily. He felt Gibbs shaking him from far away. He heard sirens wailing just as far. Oh good. Gibbs wanted sirens. He saw McGee and Bishop slipping in the snow as they reached him. He tasted something metallic in his mouth again. He spits it out because he wanted to ask.

"How do you..." Tony coughed. For some reason, Tim looked like he wanted to throw up. "How do you say Pun...pun chow..."

"What, Tony?" Tim was suddenly too close to Tony's face. Gibbs was breaking his fingers around his belt loop. Bishop's white face was pressed between them as she tried to see.

"Stupid Phil," Tony managed out as everyone began to look too far away, away, away, shrinking to tiny snowflakes until the light snuffed out.

 

It was still snowing when Tony woke up. Thankfully, the white stuff was outside. 

The snow covered soggy and snoring lumps, though, were inside.

Tony lifted his head. Okay, he _thought_ about raising his head. His eyelids lifted up. Yay, team. He blinked red rimmed, gross crusty eyes at the lumpy couch he thinks was Abby and Tim. Or the couch seriously needed re-upholstering. 

A machine behind him bleeped and two lumps sprang up, voices frantic.

Tony grinned goofily at Abby's lopsided pigtails on her head. Tim snagged one braid and aborted the full body hug she was about to hurtle towards Tony.

Tony's eyes rolled towards the window. 

"Still?" Tony rasped.

Tim patted himself to a somewhat less rumpled state. "Been all week."

If Tim was going for nonchalant, he failed. He came off a bit too Pee Wee Herman.

Abby still looked like she wanted to wrap around Tony like some Goth yet cute looking anaconda. Instead, she hesitantly came over and kissed his forehead.

"We were going to make you snow cones," Abby whispered because apparently she thought Tony's ears were hurt, not the other 99.99% of his body. At least, it felt like it was 99.99%. She captured Tony's hand, the one without all the Frankenstein needles sticking out. "In case, you woke up after the storm's done."

Tony grimaced and whoops, not a good idea because it made his face hurt and Tim looked like he was going to barrel through his hospital room wall like Captain America to grab a doctor.

"I get enough of that out there," Tony grumbled. He wished Abby gave him his hand back. His nose itched.

"Gibbs figured as much." Tim gently pried Abby's hands away. Tony gratefully scratched his nose. "So he went to get you ice chips." He grinned shakily. "Boss said you were going to wake up today. Or else."

Tony boggled. "Or else?" He looked over to Abby. "What did he mean 'or else'?"

Abby smiled. It was an improvement to the huge wet eyes she kept casting his way.

"Or else he was making you write Punxsutawney Phil a thousand times."

"Pun...pun a what?"

Tim smirked. It looked weird on his pale face. "Punxsutawney. The groundhog? Bishop finally figured out what you were trying to say when you were in ICU. She printed it out on a bunch of flash cards for you along with its origin." He held up a stack of paper that could have doubled as a dictionary. "Happy reading. Palmer went to the gift shop with Ducky to find you a groundhog."

Tony groaned. He sagged deeper into his bed. The door cracked open with a familiar shadow and a gruff "Took you long enough." following in. Tony smiled drowsily. He fell asleep under the weight of a hand on his shoulder, the melody of familiar voices dropping to a hush and the snow drifting lazily outside the window.

**Author's Note:**

> The groundhogs--stuffed or otherwise--are real and yes, see their shadows.
> 
> This was a word_battle prompt response. Penfold gave me the fandom _NCIS_ and the prompt _snow_. Hence, I blame _Penfold_. LOL.
> 
>  
> 
> Feedback is like cookies. I _like_ cookies!


End file.
